


cissy

by TreacleTeacups



Series: Drabbles n Oneshots [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, based on a prompt, character studies I guess?, implication of canon divergence from 6th Year, in which Sirius knows the end is near and reaches out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleTeacups/pseuds/TreacleTeacups
Summary: From the minute Sirius Black escaped Azkaban, he knew he was running on stolen time. Someone needs to be there for Harry, someone fierce and strong and intelligent, someone who will protect his godson with the cunning of a Slytherin and the heart of a lion.He knows just the woman.
Series: Drabbles n Oneshots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859008
Comments: 14
Kudos: 183





	cissy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
> "Sirius was concerned, he knew Harry very little but he was sure that no one should get attached to a stranger that quickly, specially if said stranger offer to live on the run, no stability what so ever, so being the pureblood heir that he was he sent a letter to the only family that could care for Harry more than they care for sides I the War... Narcisa woke up the next day with a letter and instructions to save Potter from muggles, first the dark Lord and now the kid?"

Sirius Black sat on the edge of a bed, looking out through a window into darkness. He absentmindedly pet Buckbeak’s large head, the hippogriff snoring loudly on the floor with his head in Sirius’ lap.

Sirius is furious. It is not the white-hot, roiling anger he’s indulged in recently, but rather a deep, quietly ruminating fury that simmers just below the surface like hot coals. It reminds him of his muted hatred in Azkaban, when he was _Prisoner ᛈᛉ390_. When he wasn’t able to do anything, _like now_ , when he was powerless and _weak_ and broken.

He needs to do something.

To simply leave Harry at the Dursley household after the events of the school year was – well, it was _negligent_. Sirius is ashamed that he’d left Harry near instantly once more on Dumbledore’s orders to revive the old guard of the Order. He’s a man of action, not thought, and he had felt so helpless hearing Harry’s story of Voldemort’s resurrection in the headmaster’s office that he’d been twitching all night in the Hospital Wing, desperate to do something, _anything_.

Sirius had thought Harry would come stay with him at Grimmauld Place (the miserable disgusting house could only be brightened by someone like Harry), but he wasn’t. Instead, the young boy was left to fend for himself in muggle Surrey after the horror show of the Triwizard Tournament, the murder of his friend, the resurrection of his parents’ murderer by means of his _own blood_ – and none of that even touched the full surface of the trauma the boy had experienced. And for Dumbledore to have the audacity to insist on no communication _–_ Merlin, Sirius can’t even begin to imagine the nightmares the child must be having…

In the time spent at Grimmauld place, settled in one place for the longest amount of time since Azkaban, Sirius is slowly come back to himself, his body and soul no longer exhausted by the constant drag of Dementor magic or keeping active on the run. In that time running around to revive the Order of the Phoenix, on the open roads and boundless sky, Sirius had had time to think. He’s thought about Harry looking so much like James, and yet nearly completely taking after his mother. He’s thought about the raw magic strength of his godson, of his fiery will and conviction. But mostly, Sirius thought about how quickly Harry immediately connected to Sirius, how the child instantly beloved him, was ready to give up everything to go on the run with him.

Sirius understood at the time, but he was more instinct than person, having been stuck in his animagus form for so long. All his mind had been screaming at the time was _pack! pack! pup is pack –_

But now, with a mind clearer than it’s been in over a decade, Sirius sees what he’d missed. He sees himself in Harry, the willingness to simply drop everything and run. After all, that _had_ _been him._

Dumbledore doesn’t treat Harry right; he puts him in situations that would break an adult, let alone a child. Sirius’ godson, his last remaining family, was being abused by his guardians, whether by negligence, emotional, physical – Sirius wasn’t sure and he hated that he didn’t know. Sirius was out of prison now, damnit, and he _still_ couldn’t be there for Harry on Dumbledore’s bloody orders. 

Sirius dug his palms into the hollows of his eyes, knowing what he had to do. He really, _really_ didn’t want to. But he must.

Sirius normally would never do this. After all, her wretched husband would always be near. But perhaps he could write to her, hide a letter for her in the event of his death. Sirius has always lived on the edge, always a breath away from dying, and that was no way to live if one had a child. But Sirius is what he has always been and Harry needs someone to protect him should he pass away.

Narcissa Black Malfoy was the only person Sirius knew he could trust to do what he needed to be done. As children, Sirius had gotten along better with Cissy more than anyone else in the family (though publicly Sirius never announced that, both for his sake and hers). Where her sisters were either crazy or rebelled from the family, Narcissa was quiet, cold, intelligent grace. She made her beauty lethal, made her position unchallengeable, made her future undeniable. She had been carefully building a foundation of convoluted political ties and silent authority ever since her formative years at Hogwarts. Even her marriage to Malfoy had been nothing more than graceful manoeuvring, though Sirius doesn’t doubt that Narcissa has some affection for the prat. Sirius had hated it, when he found out who she married; Malfoy didn’t deserve her. Sirius couldn’t think of anyone who really did.

Despite their differences, Narcissa and Sirius always saw eye to eye. They gravitated to one another for, in the crazy little Black family corner of their world, they were cut of the same cloth. To Narcissa, there was only Family. Her own was insane and inbred, so she had made her own. Never mind the politics and claims of blood superiority – Narcissa always came through. She may be the epitome of Slytherin heiress, but when it was family on the line, Narcissa was a lioness.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy sliced through the strange, ratty envelope with a precisely cast spell, gingerly pulling out the dirty letter within.

When the woman saw the name scrawled at the bottom, she became ashen. Her trembling fingers clutched the paper on either side, her pale eyebrows drawing together.

Narcissa would never admit it so, but she had been revolted by Sirius’ betrayal of the Potters. She may have disliked them and turned up her nose at their blindingly light magic and their superiority complexes, but the Potters were the family Sirius had chosen. To have gone behind their backs, betray them to their greatest enemy –

Simply put, Narcissa thought Sirius deserved to rot until the end of time. When news of his death through the veil reached her, Narcissa had thought he’d deserved it, really.

But now, reading through the shaky writing with increasingly growing alarm, Narcissa sees the truth. _Of course,_ Peter Pettigrew. She can see it now: the little rat, clawing its way into affection with blustery idiocy and then snapping at the hand that feeds, if only for more more _more_ attention. Pettigrew had been a hateful addition to her household, along with a someone Narcissa pretended simply didn’t exist and kept very carefully out of His sight, and the little rat had proven himself a hundred times over as horrifically unreliable.

The knot of hurt in Narcissa’s heart began to loosen as she neared the end of the brief letter. At the time of writing, which Narcissa presumes was at least a year ago, she can see Sirius was still scrambled. But through the haze, he fights for Harry. Through the madness attempting to swallow him whole, Narcissa sees her old friend.

_Help him, Cissy. He’s just a child._

_He’s all I’ve got left._

Narcissa put the letter down. She looked around the drawing room, the stately Manor cold and unfeeling. Ever since His resurrection, everything had gone to hell. Her husband, locked in Azkaban. Her sister, madder than ever. Her son, forced to attempt to murder Dumbledore as some insane punishment that would only end in devastation.

The Manor is quiet. The letter in her hands crinkles. Narcissa reads the last line again, feeling untethered, a boat without an anchor, drifting out to sea.

_Help him, Cissy. He’s all I’ve got left._

Narcissa goes to her desk, pulls out a piece of parchment and inks her quill. She’s sat by idly for long enough. It’s time for her to come out and play.


End file.
